Cross & Angel Wings
by darklady92
Summary: Lily Cross went off to war, leaving her old life behind. When she returned, she found that her entire world had changed. Now, she must find her way in a new world where the dead have the upper hand. Armed with her skills and a desperate need to survive, can Lily make it to the end-and possibly find love in the process? (DDxOC) *Does not follow canon.*
1. Prologue

***A/N*:** **I do not own The Walking Dead, its universe, nor its characters. I only own Lily Cross. This fic does not follow canon. I hope you enjoy, and please, leave a review! It does my heart well to hear from my readers!**

 *****I do not personally share nor condone the views, expressions, opinions, thoughts, or actions of Lily. All of these things are strictly intended for the development of the character/story—nothing more.**

 **Cross and Angel Wings**

 **Prologue:**

I expected a lot of things when I returned from my second tour of duty, but this wasn't one of them. Granted, I wasn't looking for a huge welcome party or anything, considering my mom made off with the first guy with enough money to get her out of Atlanta. I was five. I can't say that I blamed her, really; she was a high school cheer captain turned stripper married to the high school quarterback turned dope head who knocked her up on prom night. What sane woman wouldn't want to get out of a bad cliché turned reality? Though, I'd be lying if I said that I was thrilled that she left me behind with daddy dearest, especially since he decided that from that day on, it was his duty to punish me for her stupidity by beating the living shit out of me.

At the ripe age of fourteen, I'd finally decided to give the old man his reckoning. I must have done a pretty fair job, too; I might have ended up with a busted nose and a few fractures, but he sported a black eye and busted lip for a while. To make it even better, or worse, my dad took it upon himself to reward me. He said that I had "potential" and before I knew what was what, I was fighting not so legally in a backwoods pit fighting ring, and winning too. It wasn't ideal to be fighting in exchange for my dad and his buddies to get their meth fix, but as he so eloquently put it, "At least I ain't pimpin' you out like the whore you are, gal."

It did the trick, anyway. For a solid two years, I fought like a dog, my dad and his friends stayed high as kites, and the only person dealing out any beatings was me. Life was good, or the best I had ever had it, anyhow. Shit always hits the fan, though. The night of my sixteenth birthday, I was fighting and winning as usual—until the cops turned up. Blue lights and people were everywhere, and all I could hear were sirens. I'll never forget watching my dad high tail it out of there as the cops tackled me.

Thankfully, the old judge presiding felt kind enough to give me a choice since it was my first offense. "Join the army, or go to prison," he said. It's not a hard guess at which I chose. The next morning, I turned my back on my pops and my shitty life and climbed onto the bus headed for boot camp. From there, I went straight for the warzone, and I never looked back.

So, like I said, I wasn't expecting a welcome party. Hell, I half expected him to be locked up—or dead. What I didn't expect, was for everybody to be dead—or undead, rather. From the moment that we stepped off of that plane and entered the airport, it was chaos at its worst. Zombies were everywhere; they took out over half of us before we even knew what hit us. It seemed as though we were far better suited to killing terrorists than flesh eating dead people. Honestly, it was like the scariest horror flick ever made, and we were unlucky enough to be right dab in the center of it.

Soon enough, our combat instincts kicked in, and we began fighting back. Too bad it wasn't enough. By the time we fought our way to the front exit, it was just me and Bates, my commanding officer. Unfortunately, he didn't make it either. He was like the dad I had always wanted, so believe me when I say watching him die cut me deep. My rage went into overdrive, and by the time I stopped seeing red, I had killed every last one of those bastards I could see. On impulse, I grabbed the keys that hung around Bates' neck before hitting the door which, lucky for me, that included the keys to both the armory and its arsenal. That certainly came in handy.

When I stepped out of that door and onto the streets of Atlanta, Georgia, I let the gravity of the situation sink in. If the warzone was hell, then what the hell was this? Was this some sick, twisted idea of a new world? Whatever it was, it was home, and that's exactly where I was headed—the shitty little trailer park that was the closest thing to a home I ever had. Out of the frying pan, and into the fire, I thought as I killed another zombie.

Like I said, I was expecting a lot of things, but this wasn't it.


	2. Chapter 1

***A/N*:** **I do not own The Walking Dead, its universe, nor its characters. I only own Lily Cross. This fic does not follow canon. I hope you enjoy, and please, leave a review! It does my heart well to hear from my readers!**

 *****I do not personally share nor condone the views, expressions, opinions, thoughts, or actions of Lily. All of these things are strictly intended for the development of the character/story—nothing more.**

 **Cross and Angel Wings**

 **Chapter 1:**

It was time to move on. I'm not really sure how long it's been since I came home to find that the world had gone to shit. It had been long enough, though, considering I had cleared the entire trailer park of both supplies and zombies, my dad and his friends included. I wish I could say that it broke my heart to blow his brains out, but well—it didn't. Ridding the world of the rest of his little gang was easier still.

I opened the last bottle of whiskey and took a long swig as I started packing my duffel bag. All of my gun and ammo stash, along with everything else was already waiting for me inside the saddle bags of my dad's Harley—except for my clothes and food. By the time I finished packing, I had finished over half of the bottle and was feeling a bit less shitty.

I made one last sweep in my dad's room, where I found another bottle of half-finished whiskey, a carton of cigarettes and lighter, a semi hidden handgun, and his favorite leather jacket. I shoved all but the jacket into my bag. Slowly, I lifted the jacket off of the bed to get a closer look. There were only two things my dad honest to God loved besides meth: his Harley and his leather jacket. I smiled as I ripped off the sleeves and slipped it on—perfect. Needless to say, I was going to take great pleasure in ragging the hell out of both.

Lastly, I made my way into the small kitchen to collect the last of the food which sadly, consisted of only two cans of raviolis and three cans of spam. That would last me a few days, tops. Nevertheless, I shoved them into my duffel and walked out of the trailer.

As I secured the bag onto the bike and climbed on, I looked into the sky. Judging by the sun, it was roughly shy of midday, meaning that I could possibly hit all the stores I was hoping to plus make it out of town before the sun set. I quickly started the engine and took off, not even bothering to take a last look at my one and only home. That life was over; it was time to move on.

Today must be my lucky day. Every store I had searched had been surprisingly well stocked and, even more so, surprisingly free of zombies. In fact, I haven't come upon a single one all day. Weird. As a result, I scored an unbelievable amount of supplies: food, water, first aid kits, booze, and even cigarettes. How lucky is that? Too lucky, if you ask me, and I was right.

I was riding down the street that housed my last stop before blowing the joint, when I realized where all the zombies had gone. "Spoke too soon, love," I muttered to myself. I parked the bike a little way back to get a slight edge on the bastards; that's when I heard it—yelling. Yelling? "I must be going crazy," I spoke again. As I drew closer to the store that the zombies had crammed into, the yelling grew louder and louder. Well, at least I'm not crazy—or alone after all.

Quickly and silently, I doubled back to the bike and gathered as many weapons as I could carry. Time for the workout of the century. "Here goes nothin'," I muttered under my breath. After three guns' worth of ammo, a whole lot of stabbing with my handy survival knife, and even more whacking with a machete I found, I finally reached the stairway leading to the roof. Halfway up, I lost the knife, forever lodged into the skull of an exceptionally disgusting zombie. Luckily, however, I gained an axe, courtesy of an "in case of emergency" box. The cuts I received from breaking the glass were worth it, I'd say.

What felt like an eternity later, I had officially fought my way to the door of the roof. I was also officially exhausted and covered head to boot in blood. Just another day in paradise. I unbarred the door as fast as I could manage and pushed it open. The sun was blinding to say the least. After fighting basically in the dark for no telling how long, it took a good minute before my eyes readjusted; what I saw once they did was—surprising.

I've never been a good judge of age, so I can't even begin to guess the age of the man before me. He seemed to be in good shape, though. I mean, he was in good shape for a man handcuffed to a roof, anyway. I'm not sure how long he's been trapped here, but I'd have to say a nice little while, considering he was yelling obscenities almost deliriously. He was also holding—a hacksaw? How did he get up here? Better yet, how did he get to be handcuffed up here? Does that mean there are others? Oh, no. Please, tell me he isn't about to do what I think with that saw.

Before he even realized I was there, I was already upon him. It wasn't until I made a grab for the saw that he noticed he wasn't alone. "Get away from me, crazy bitch," he spat, jerking the saw away. Great. Just great. I took a step back and folded my arms over my chest and snorted.

"I'm crazy?! I'm not the one handcuffed to a roof, screaming at the top of my lungs like a mental patient, or about to do something extremely stupid with that saw! If you haven't noticed, you've attracted every zombie in a five block radius-," he cut me off.

"Zombies? You mean walkers," he asked. "Zombie, walker, whatever—same difference," I replied. "That's what we call 'em—walkers," he said. Walkers—wait. Did he say we? So there are others. "Who's 'we'?"

"My group—or they was my group. Before the sum bitches cuffed me here and left me for dead," he said bitterly. I snorted, "Some group. Seems to me, the fucking cowards should've put a bullet in your head and been done with it instead of letting the zom—I mean walkers—do their dirty work. No one deserves this kind of death."

"Not the sugar coatin' type, are ya darlin'," he said with a slight chuckle. "Sorry, I'm fresh outta sugar, but I'm sure if you wait long enough, a sweet little girl scout's sure to show up and hold your hand," I retorted. That one actually got a laugh out of him. I uncrossed my arms and placed a hand on my hip.

"So—speaking of hands…," I looked from his cuffed hand, to the saw, and back. I inhaled and exhaled deeply before continuing, "Look, I don't know you, so if you want to rid your arm of that pesky hand that's your business. But, um, seeing that two hands are better than one and all—well, I just think you'll have a better chance of surviving if you're not crippled. Up to you." I silently re-crossed my arms and waited.

After a good minute, I heard him snort followed by the sound of the hacksaw hitting the concrete. Now, we're getting somewhere. "Right," I spoke again. "Now that that's settled, we can see about freeing you from that pipe." I picked up my newly acquired axe and brought out the water bottle I had been carrying. "Water," I asked shaking the bottle so he could hear the contents. He almost eagerly accepted it and downed the whole bottle within seconds. I let him wipe his mouth with his free hand, before I signaled him to get his cuffed hand ready. Then, I swung.

It took longer than we had both hoped; I wasn't lying when I said that I was exhausted, and it showed. Nevertheless, I had him free with some daylight to spare. Granted, his hand still had the cuff, but at least he was mobile now. We wasted no time getting off of that roof, and before we knew it, we were back on the street.

"You really killed all them walkers," he asked. "I don't see anybody else here," I shrugged, slinging the axe on my shoulder and resting it there. He chuckled again, "You're just a regular ol' smartass ain't ye? I like you, sugar tits." "I don't know about 'regular', but my commander always said that if you looked 'smartass' up in the dictionary, there'd be me," I chuckled. "As for liking me, well—you should. I only killed all them walkers and saved your ass—or hand in this case, and I don't even know your name."

He snorted before sticking out his hand, "Name's Merle—Merle Dixon." I paused a moment before accepting his outreached hand and shaking it, "Lily—Lily Cross. Good to meet you, Merle." "Yeah, well that all depends on who you talk to," he replied. I shook my head and laughed, "Obviously."

We stood there a moment eyeing each other casually before I decided it was time to get moving. The sun was getting lower, and I still had to get out of this shit hole and find shelter for the night. "Well, good luck to you, Merle," I said as I turned my back to him and started for the bike. "Wait—what's your hurry? Where ya goin', anyway," he called after me. "Away from this piece of shit town," I replied, still walking. I heard him running after me. Great. "Would ye wait a damn minute," he panted, catching up to me. I turned around slowly and eyed him. "Don't—don't ya think it'd be smarter to, you know, stick together?" I exhaled audibly, "Sorry, honey, I travel alone; besides, you don't exactly have the best luck with groups."

"But we could help each other-," I stopped him there. "We already have. You informed me that I'm not the only one left in the world, and I freed you; that's all there is to it. Why are you so desperate to come with me, anyhow?"

"You have a bike, supplies, and I—I think you could help me find my little brother," he replied. Little brother? "What makes you so sure about that," I asked. "Just a hunch. Look, he was with that damn group—probably still is. It's only been a couple days; they couldn't have gotten far," he said in a way that could only be his version of pleading.

I ran my fingers through my blood-matted hair and let out another breath. Shit. "Look, I can't help you with your brother, and I can't take you with me. You don't exactly seem like the 'helpless' type; I'm sure you can manage. But—but I reckon I could help you with supplies." I quickly took a smaller bag from one of the bike's saddle bags, dumped the contents back into the saddle bag, and threw in some supplies to give him: water, a first aid kit, a knife, some food, a pack of cigarettes and lighter, that half-finished bottle of whiskey from my dad's room, and a handgun complete with ammo.

"Don't make me regret this, Merle," I said, tossing him the bag. I had the motor running by the time he looked back up. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sound the Harley made when I took off drowned out all of the words he might have spoken. It wasn't like he was going to thank me or something. Plus, I had things to do, and I really didn't want to stick around to find out whether or not he would have pulled that gun on me. No, it was time to go. I quickly sped up, leaving Merle Dixon and Atlanta in the dust.


	3. Chapter 2

***A/N*:** **I do not own The Walking Dead, its universe, nor its characters. I only own Lily Cross. This fic does not follow canon. I hope you enjoy, and please, leave a review! It does my heart well to hear from my readers!**

 *****I do not personally share nor condone the views, expressions, opinions, thoughts, or actions of Lily. All of these things are strictly intended for the development of the character/story—nothing more.**

 **Cross and Angel Wings**

 **Chapter 2:**

I'm not sure how long it's been since I saved Merle on that roof. Honestly, I quit keeping track of the days a long time ago. They all just kind of bleed together, anyway. All I knew was that it had been a good long while, I had made pretty good headway, and the bike was getting dangerously low on fuel.

God must truly smile on the unfortunate, because not even a mile later I came upon quite a few abandoned cars. Sure, they had a few walkers, but nothing that I couldn't handle. I had them dead in no time, and quickly set to going through the cars. I didn't find anything of any real use, but a couple did have some gas left in the tank. I always hated syphoning gas, but I couldn't exactly complain today. I got lucky—extremely lucky.

I had just finished putting the fuel in my tank when I saw it. Some food and drink sitting on the trunk of one of the cars. Strange. Upon further inspection, I found a message to someone named Sophia: Sophia, wait for us here; we'll come back every day. Interesting. I was almost tempted to wait and see who these folks were, almost. I left.

I rode a bit further before stopping for the day. My ass hurt and my legs were stiff from riding so much, and I was beat. Maybe I could find somewhere decent to camp tonight; maybe I could even find some game for supper. After the gas incident, I was feeling luckier than ever. Who knows? I may even be able to find a branch or creek to bathe in. God knows I needed one. I've done my best to clean up, but I was still crusted with walker blood. My hair was still disgustingly matted with it, and honestly, the stench was starting to get to me. Oh, how I miss being able to practice decent hygiene.

Once I hid the Harley well enough to satisfy myself, I headed into the woods. I did my best to mark where I had been as I went; whether that was wise or stupid, I couldn't say. After what seemed like forever, I stumbled upon an abandoned house. It looked abandoned, anyway. I silently walked the perimeter with no sign of habitation. Good. Still, I kept my guard up as I walked through the front door—empty.

I had just set my bag on top of the kitchen table when I heard movement upstairs. Great. I grabbed a gun and made my way to the source of the noise; it was coming from a spare bedroom. At my internal count of three, I kicked in the door. Walker. Instinctively, I popped the creature in the head and checked the rest of the house. All was clear.

After a very short breather, I went out for a quick hunt. That was a bust. In fact, the only good that came out of it was that I found a creek not far from the house; at least I could properly clean up come daylight. Exhausted, I did my absolute best to bar both the front and back doors and treated myself to a less than delicious can of spam. I smoked a cigarette and hit the sack for a well-earned rest.

By the time I woke the next morning, the sun was already high in the sky. I quickly ate, then gathered my things and started toward the creek. I can't even explain how refreshing it felt to have blood-free hair and skin. Unfortunately, it was very short-lived. I had just finished dressing myself when I heard the all too familiar sounds of walkers. Thanks to that killing spree, before I knew it, I didn't know where I was anymore. Perfect.

I turned in a circle, searching for a familiar sight to no avail, but in the next instant I heard—yelling. Yelling? Oh, no. Not again. As fate would have it, my curiosity got the better of me once more. I followed the noise up the creek, and what I saw next was—surprising.

The man was lying at the edge of the creek. He looked to be about delusional with the way he was going on: yelling, muttering, and kicking almost simultaneously. It was then that I noticed the walker at his foot. Without a moment's hesitation, I shot the walker, which in turn fell on top of the man. If he was yelling before, he was practically screaming now.

I walked up to him and drug the walker off. The way he was going on, though, I don't think he even noticed; this guy was in a whole different world. I knelt down slowly and took in the sight before me. He was obviously fit and good looking, too—really good looking. He clutched a crossbow in one hand and a doll in the other. A doll? He was also injured. I stared at the arrow protruding from his side; it would obviously need tending.

While he seemed to be calm for the moment, I grabbed the arrow and placed my other hand on his shoulder to hold him still. I was about to pull, when he began another fit. He once again began kicking and yelling obscenities that I would rather not repeat, but soon resorted to just mumbling. Though it was barely above a whisper, I was still able to make out a few words, "Shut up—Merle—I ain't nobody's bitch…"

Merle? Does this guy know Merle? He continued rambling, "I—tried, Merle! I went back—but you weren't there…" Well, it was obvious that he did, indeed, know Merle; the question was: how? I was about to attempt to snap him out of whatever hallucination he was experiencing, when something grabbed me. Shit.

Judging by the dreadful stench, I was certain it was a walker, and unfortunately, I was right. To make things even better, I had lost my gun while calming "mystery man". I shut my eyes tight and had just about come to terms with my fate, when I felt something whiz by my head, and an instant later, I felt the grip on me disappear. When I reopened my eyes, I was exceptionally surprised to see "mystery man" standing—and lowering his crossbow.

Apparently, he had used the arrow in his side to kill the walker that almost had me for lunch. My relief was instantly replaced with concern, however, as I watched the man fall back into the creek. Quickly, I ran to him and started dragging him onto the bank, and as soon as his boots hit the sand, he jerked away. "Just let me be," he spat. "I was just trying to help," I retorted. "Yeah, well, I don't need your help; I'm fine."

"Right, you look fine," I replied with as much sarcasm as I could muster. The truth was, he did look fine. Honestly, if he looked this good injured and delusional, I'd love to see how good he looked on a good day. Now wasn't the time for such thoughts, though. I silently watched him try and fail to climb the steep cliff leading away from the creek. "Damnit, will you just let me help, already? I'm sure you'd like to get wherever it is that you're going before midnight," I exclaimed. "Fine," he said.

Slowly, but surely, we made it up the cliff, and promptly sat down. He was obviously exhausted and well on his way to dehydration. I offered him my water bottle, and surprisingly, he took it. I lit a cigarette and offered him one; he obliged. "Thanks—for saving my ass back there," I said between drags. He took a long drag and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah," was all he replied.

After he finished smoking, he stood up and started walking. "Hey! Where ya goin'? Don't you think you need to rest," I asked; he stopped and turned back to face me. "Ain't no time to rest," he said. "But, you're injured—," he cut me off. "I've had worse; I'll live. 'Sides, I'll get it taken care of when I get back," he began walking again.

As I watched him walk away, I had a weird feeling come over me. My whole life, being alone never bothered me; I welcomed it, actually. Watching him leave, though—well, it didn't feel so good. He took a few more steps, then stopped again, "You comin', or are ya gonna stand there all damn night?" I don't exactly know why, but my feet began moving, and before I knew what was happening, I was following this man I didn't even know to God knows where. "Where are we going," I asked. "Does it matter," he retorted. Apparently not.

The sun was setting when we reached the edge of the woods. He stopped me, "Wait here, I need to tell the others." There are others? I watched him walk into the field. He must not have been paying the least bit of attention, because it didn't take an expert to see the glint shining off of the barrel of that gun in the distance, especially at that height. Oh, shit.

Before I even knew what I was doing, I was halfway to him. I ran with every bit of strength I had left in me. It could only have been seconds, but it damn sure felt like a lifetime. Shit, shit, shit. I heard the gun go off at the very same moment I knocked him to the ground. Not even a split second later, I felt the worst stinging sensation of my life. "What the-," I heard "mystery man" say as I hit the dirt; then everything went black.


	4. Chapter 3

***A/N*:** **I do not own The Walking Dead, its universe, nor its characters. I only own Lily Cross. This fic does not follow canon. I hope you enjoy, and please, leave a review! It does my heart well to hear from my readers!**

 *****I do not personally share nor condone the views, expressions, opinions, thoughts, or actions of Lily. All of these things are strictly intended for the development of the character/story—nothing more.**

 **Cross and Angel Wings**

 **Chapter 3:**

I slowly opened my eyes and took in the room I was in. It was dark out; the only light came from the lone candle on the bedside table. The room was decorated in a normal farmhouse fashion: plain and homey. I all but pissed myself, though, when I turned my head to find "mystery man" sleeping in a chair at my bedside.

Since I was finally able to give him a closer look without being interrupted or noticed, I made the most of the opportunity. He had dark hair, broad shoulders, and muscular arms. He was well built to say the least. He wore a leather jacket with the sleeves cut off, much like mine; the jeans and boots he wore were even close in comparison of mine, except manlier. He's obviously got good taste in clothes. Even his tattoos were a turn-on; I couldn't exactly make them out in this light, but it didn't really matter.

All-in-all, the mystery man could only be described as my version of the perfect man. Hell, the only flaw I managed to find was that he was dirty, and honestly, that wasn't considered a flaw in the world we lived in now. I'm not sure how long I stared at him, but the more I did, the better he looked. Needless to say, if I thought he was good looking earlier, he was downright gorgeous now.

I further inspected his features. I was just admiring the way he slept when something clicked in my head. He looked—familiar. I strained my eyes to see him better in the dim light. I knew I had never met him before, but something about him reminded me of someone. As I racked my brain for an answer, I suddenly remembered the events of the day: finding him, the rambling—the rambling. That's right, he knows Merle. I looked at him again. Merle. Merle? Merle! Holy, shit.

I had a sinking feeling I was staring at—and fantasizing about—Merle's own little brother, the one he was looking for. Great. I wouldn't know for sure, though, until morning when I could actually test my theory; I clung to that hope like an anchor. My next revelation, however, hit me like a freight train. But if that's Merle's little brother, then—oh, no. Then—I'm also sharing this house with that group. The group that left Merle on that damn roof. Shit! I've got to get out of here!

I shot up as soon as those thoughts had been processed. He twitched in his sleep, and I bit back a cry. In all of my rambling thoughts and revelations, I had skipped one very important detail—I had also been shot. Damnit. I tried to move again, but it was no use. I've never been a crybaby—my dad made sure of that. Still, a healing gunshot wound isn't pretty, and it hurts like a bitch. I wasn't going anywhere tonight. I slowly eased back down and rested my head on the pillow. It's going to be a long night.

I must had fallen back asleep, because when I reopened my eyes, the sun was up. Mystery man was also nowhere to be found. His absence was to be short-lived, though. I had just sat up a little when he came through the door with another man in a sheriff's uniform. Man, I fucking hate cops. This should be good.

I immediately put up my guard as I remembered the sudden revelations of the night before. It went up even further when the badge on the sheriff's chest caught the light from the window. I listened as the sheriff introduced himself as Rick Grimes and mystery man as Daryl Dixon. My suspicions were confirmed. This was, indeed, Merle's little brother—and the other was the apparent leader of the group. Damn.

I'm not sure what Rick was saying; I wasn't listening. I had my eyes on Daryl, "Well, it's easy to see who got all the looks in the family." "'Scuse me," he replied. Rick stared between the two of us, clearly confused—and silent. "You're Merle's little brother, ain't you," I asked. "Wait—you know Merle," he answered with a question. I ignored him as I turned my attention to Rick.

"And you—must be the leader of the fucking cowards that left him on that damned roof," I spat; Rick's mouth dropped open slightly, and I heard Daryl snort. "I knew that cops didn't have balls figuratively, but I didn't know they literally cut 'em off when you graduated that fuckin' academy, Sheriff," I continued. That one struck a nerve. "Now, wait just a damn minute-," he started, but I cut him off.

"No, you wait just a damn minute. I've seen a lot of spineless pricks in my life, but never a whole fucking group! The world may have gone to shit, but it is not okay to leave a man cuffed to a roof because you're too chicken-shit to kill him yourself," I practically yelled. "You don't know Merle-," Rick tried again, and I once again cut him off.

"You're right, I don't know him. But I saved his ass all the same," I retorted. "You mean—you killed all them walkers," Daryl chimed in. This time, I answered his question," Well, he damn sure didn't do it." He shook his head in disbelief, rubbed the back of his neck, and chuckled in the sexiest huskiness I had ever heard. "Shit," he mumbled before Rick started again.

"Like I said, you don't know him; he's dangerous," Rick said. "Ain't we all. All I'm saying, is that if he was so much of a threat, one of you should have had the guts to put a bullet in his head and been done with it," I replied. "If we wouldn't have cuffed him, he would've killed T-Dog and no tellin' who else," he continued. "Survival of the fittest, honey," I said. Daryl snorted again.

"What's that supposed to mean," Rick asked. "It means that if he could've killed T-whoever, maybe he was just saving you the trouble of the inevitable. Maybe he wouldn't have killed him, anyway. But instead of giving him a fighting chance like you obviously gave Tree-frog, or even giving him a decent death, you handcuffed him to a fucking roof to let the walkers do your dirty work," I ranted. "Nobody deserves to die like that—nobody," I continued. Daryl continued to listen in silence as Rick continued to defend his actions.

"You just admitted that you don't even know Merle, but you keep defending him like he's your long-lost brother or something-," I cut him off again. "Well, he is his long-lost brother," I said with a smirk as I nodded my head in Daryl's direction. Daryl shook his head and chuckled again, and Rick exploded.

"You sit there and reprimand me for doing what I did, but all I really did was ensure this group's safety," he yelled as he paced back and forth. "Those are awfully big words for a simple, hicktown sheriff," I replied mockingly, crossing my arms and staring at him. I could hear him grinding his teeth as soon as I spoke those words. I think I even saw steam coming from his ears the moment Daryl started laughing. At least something pleasant has come out of this. Rick threw his hands up and stormed out of the room, muttering under his breath as he went. Finally.

Daryl watched Rick leave the room, then took a step closer to my bedside. "So…," he trailed off; I waited. "Merle's—alive," he asked. "Last I saw him, he was," I answered. He was clearly relieved to hear it. I watched him rub the back of his neck again before he explained, "I went back for him—but all I found was them dead walkers, half of the handcuffs, and that hacksaw. Rick and the others went with me to get him…" I snorted, "Aww, they had a change of heart; I guess that makes everything all peachy then, don't it?" He ignored my smartass comment.

"When—where did you last see him," he questioned. "I can't tell you when; I don't exactly keep up with time anymore, but I can tell you where. He was still in Atlanta. I left him as soon as I saw to it that he made it back on the street." He gave me a look, and I quickly added, "Don't worry, the streets were walker-free when I left, and I made sure he had a couple weapons and plenty of supplies before I ditched him."

"But why-," he started, but I cut him off. "Let me guess—why did I leave him," I finished for him; he nodded. "Look, I'll tell you just like I told your brother: I travel alone. He didn't exactly seem like the weak sort, anyway. And, honestly, your ol' sheriff there was right about one thing—Merle ain't no big, fluffy teddy bear. I know an army man when I see one; I've been around enough of 'em—hell, I was one…," I trailed off.

"You were in the army," he asked, clearly surprised. "I was. I had just come back from my second tour—and when I mean 'just come back', I mean I just stepped off the damn plane—when those bastards started attacking," I answered. "Some homecoming," I added with a snort; he chuckled. "But, back to your big brother. I know an army man when I see one. Between that, and the way he looked at me when we re-entered the street, I knew one of two things would've happened if I took him with me: we would've hooked up or we would've gotten into it. Neither one of those could've ended up good," I finished. He gave me another look and snorted.

"Don't look at me like that," I said, but it didn't stop him. "Look—before I heard him yelling on that damned roof, I thought I was the only living person left. And until he mentioned his 'little brother' or a group—I thought he was the last man on Earth-," his laugh cut me off. I glared at him a few seconds before laughing too. Man, it feels good to laugh. "But never fear, darlin'. Now that I've seen you, Merle doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell of getting with me," he instantly stopped laughing. As he stared at me, obviously shocked by my statement, I could have sworn he was beginning to look a little flushed.

I smiled to myself. Does he even realize how good he looks? I let my smile show on my face before continuing, "Besides, there was no way Merle would've rode bitch, and I damn sure wasn't going to." If it were possible, he looked even more shocked. "You—you ride," he asked, shock still clear as day on his face. "Bikes? Yeah—," I paused to smile at him again before continuing. "Among other things," I finished, giving him a wink.

If he wasn't red before, he was damn sure red now. Bingo. I choked on a laugh as he very audibly cleared his throat. He then turned away and started rubbing his neck again. I must have really struck a nerve. I watched him turn to face me, still rubbing his neck, only to turn back around. I stifled another laugh. "Damn," I heard him mumble, followed by another one of his sexy chuckles. He finally turned to face me again, but as soon as he opened his mouth to speak, Rick strode back through the door. Daryl promptly closed his mouth again. Shit.


	5. Chapter 4

***A/N*:** **I do not own The Walking Dead, its universe, nor its characters. I only own Lily Cross. This fic does not follow canon. I hope you enjoy, and please, leave a review! It does my heart well to hear from my readers!**

 *****I do not personally share nor condone the views, expressions, opinions, thoughts, or actions of Lily. All of these things are strictly intended for the development of the character/story—nothing more.**

 **Cross and Angel Wings**

 **Chapter 4:**

"Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot here, Ms.-," Rick began, then trailed off; he looked at me expectantly. "Cross—Lily Cross," I finished for him. "I think we got off on the wrong foot here, Lily," he repeated. "What was your first clue, Sheriff," I retorted. He opened his mouth, but I quickly silenced him. "Don't bother—I'm leaving, anyway," the two men stared at me. "You can't leave, we're not done asking questions," Rick said. I rolled my eyes, "I can, and I am; you may not be done asking, but I'm damn sure done answering."

At that, I uncovered myself and stood up. Whether it was the sudden cool air I felt or the look on the men's faces that clued me in, I wasn't sure. What I did become well aware of at that exact moment was that I was bare from the waist up. Damnit. Apparently, the gunshot wound was in such a place that it required the removal of my shirt, and since I gave up wearing a bra a long time ago, there wasn't even a slight chance of me having that on, either. Great. Just perfect.

I should have been embarrassed, and a small part of me was. Unfortunately, my pride was at stake; there was absolutely no way I was letting them see me uncomfortable. As I stood there glaring at them, I realized that one was embarrassed, one was flustered, and they both were shocked—and uncomfortable; I took comfort in that.

I snorted then turned my back to them. I was about to put on my shirt, when I heard Rick make a noise that resembled a small gasp. It was then that I remembered the deep, ugly scars that decorated both my front and backsides; it was bad enough, anybody could see the scars on my face and arms, but now this? That noise meant they had noticed. Of course, they noticed. They're everywhere—and disgusting.

I turned my head to look at them, still keeping my back to them. Yepp, they're still staring. Really?! "Look, I don't know how long it's been since either of you have seen a half-naked woman, and I know the world has gone to hell in a hand-basket—but it is still considered common courtesy to let a lady dress in peace," I said, glaring at them over my shoulder; neither man moved. Seriously?!

I coughed loudly to get their attention. It woke Rick up, at least. At what I assumed to be his best attempt at being a smartass, he said, "You don't seem to be much of a lady." Screw you, Rick! I laughed outright at that one. I then turned to face him head on, "Excuse me, where are my manners?" I curtsied as dramatically and sarcastically as I could. "There, now will the two of you leave," I asked, looking from Rick to Daryl. I guess it worked, because they both stepped out of the room. Finally!

Pulling the shirt over my head was the easy part; putting my arms through the sleeves—not so much. After what felt like forever, I finally had it on. I was just about to slip my jacket on, when I caught part of Rick and Daryl's conversation. I strained to listen as closely as possible.

"We can't let her go, Rick," Daryl said. "I don't see why not. If she wants to leave, let her—one less mouth to feed," Rick replied. "We need her. She was in the army for fuck's sake! This group ain't exactly swarmin' with fighters," Daryl retorted. "We don't know anything about her, Daryl," Rick said. "We know she killed them walkers. We know she saved Merle—and we know she kept my ass from gettin' shot yesterday. What more do we need to know," Daryl asked.

"We still don't know her story," Rick answered. "She—she could be dangerous. We have to think about the safety of the group," he continued. "If you give two fucks about the safety of the group, you'll convince her to stay," Daryl spat. "Is that so? What makes you so damn sure? You really think you've got her that figured out," Rick questioned. "Damn right. Look, she's good people, she just—well, if those scars are any clue—she just-," I didn't hear the rest of Daryl's statement; I stormed past the both of them and made my way out of the house.

I was about to pass the RV, when they stopped me. "Wait—would you wait just a minute," Rick said, running to catch up with me, Daryl right on his heel. Shit. I sighed heavily before turning around to face them, "What do you want, now?" I crossed my arms and glared at them with a raised brow. Rick was about to speak, when two others joined the conversation. They introduced themselves as Shane and Andrea. Shane was obviously a good friend of Rick's from the way they greeted each other. Andrea was obviously either Shane's lover, or she desperately wanted to be.

While they exchanged pleasantries, I saw this as my chance of escape. Without saying a word, I quickly turned my back and started back towards the tree line. "Wait," I heard Rick yell again. Damnit. I turned around, "What?" "Look, we're sorry—we just—is there anything we can do or say to make you change your mind," Rick asked. "No," I replied curtly. I looked at Daryl, "I travel alone, remember?" "But, there's safety in numbers," Rick tried. I chuckled, "Seems to me, it's just easier pickings for the walkers."

"Daryl said you were in the army. That means you know how to fight-," Rick tried again, but I cut him off. "I know how to fight. Been fightin' my whole fuckin' life—the army ain't got shit to do with it. That was just my get-outta-jail free card. What of it," I spat. Rick eyed Daryl for a bit before looking back to me, "So, that means we could use you. You could help us fight—or at least train the others."

"Do I look like a fucking drill sergeant to you, Sheriff," I asked. "What makes you think I would want to help you do anything," I continued. "You helped Merle—you helped Daryl," Rick said. I looked at Daryl, and he looked at me. Why is he so damn gorgeous?! Pull yourself together! Now is not the time, you've got to get out of here! But, then I'll never see him again. I sighed.

I was about to give another smartass comment in answer to Rick's statement, when Andrea piped in, "If she wants to leave, let her, Rick. We don't need her. We've got Shane, Daryl, and you. Besides, I'm good with a gun—I know how to fight." She sounded confident, but I saw the insecurity flash in her eyes when she caught me staring at her. I snorted. "What? You don't think I can," she spat at me. I eyed her casually; there it was again—insecurity.

I slowly walked up to her, keeping my eyes locked with hers the whole time. She was strong, but not nearly as strong as she was putting on. "So, you're the bitch that shot me," I asked, arms crossed and brow raised. "I—I," she stuttered. I laughed out, "You—what? Didn't mean to shoot me, or didn't mean to let me live?" "I—I didn't mean to shoot you," she replied.

"Well that's obvious. You were obviously trying to shoot your group mate, here," I said nodding at Daryl. "I—I," she stuttered again, clearly getting more nervous by the second. "Lily-," Rick started, but I raised a hand to silence him. I laughed again, "Oh come on, Andrea." I pointed to my bandaged wound, "Tell me the truth, either you thought Daryl here was a walker, or you were purposely trying to kill him. That could only mean that you're either a really bad shot with an even shittier teacher, or you're an attempted murderer—which is it?" I waited; she looked from Shane to Rick to Daryl before hanging her head.

"I—I thought he was a walker. I'm really sorry," she said in almost a whisper. "Sorry wouldn't have brought him back if you would've shot him. In the world we live in now, there's no room for mistakes—or sorry's," I said. I chuckled as I looked her in the eye again, "I don't know what's worse—the fact that you can't shoot for shit, that your teacher actually thought you were good enough to stand watch, or that you're too damn stupid to tell the difference between a walker and a member of your own group."

She glared at me and inched closer to Shane; Shane was clearly pissed. He must be the 'said' teacher. Only one way to find out. "Fuck you," Andrea spat. "No thanks, love. I don't swing that way," I replied. "But, I'm sure your teacher, here, would be happy to oblige," I nodded at Shane; he glared at me angrily. "Though, if he fucks as good as he teaches, I'm afraid you're in for one hell of a disappointment," I had just got the words from my mouth when Shane came at me and swung.

Instinctively, I ducked. I then punched him as hard as I could in the gut; it was enough to make him double-over. As soon as he bent forward, I grabbed his head and brought it against my knee. Andrea screamed, and he fell to the ground. She immediately knelt beside him to comfort him. After a moment, he got up and wiped the blood off of his face, then stormed off, Andrea hot on his heels.

Daryl shook his head and began to laugh, "Shit, you just make friends wherever you go, don't 'ya." I began to chuckle along with him, "So I've been told." I gave him one last look, then turned to walk away. A hand grabbed me, "Please, Lily." It was Rick. I eyed him carefully, "I can't help you—now let me go, or I'll do you like I did your pal." He let go.

I just started walking again, when I felt another hand grab my arm. "I told you, Rick-," I began as I turned around, ready to swing. Only it wasn't Rick, it was Daryl. I swallowed the rest of my words. He didn't speak, he just held me there, his piercing, blue eyes locked on mine. God, does he know how beautiful he is?! From the way he's looking at me—he has to! I could lose myself in those eyes forever.

After a moment, I looked from his eyes, to his hand that gripped my arm, and back. I sighed heavily. "Fine," I said, exasperated. "So, you'll stay," Rick asked. I never took my eyes off of Daryl, "Yeah." Daryl released my arm, and I heard Rick sigh in relief.

I looked at the two men, then turned and started for the woods again. "Hey, you said you were stayin'," Daryl called. I stopped and looked at him over my shoulder, "If I'm gonna stay, I'm gonna need my bike—and my gear." He perked up when I mentioned my bike; I started walking again. I heard Rick tell him to go with me to make sure I didn't lose my way; he said that he had to go talk with somebody named Hershel.

After a few more steps, I stopped and looked over my shoulder again. Rick was headed back to the farmhouse, and Daryl was still standing there. He was staring at me, but he didn't make a move to follow me. "You comin', or are 'ya just gonna stand there all damn day," I asked. I started walking again; he quickly caught up.


	6. Chapter 5

***A/N*:** **I do not own The Walking Dead, its universe, nor its characters. I only own Lily Cross. This fic does not follow canon. I hope you enjoy, and please, leave a review! It does my heart well to hear from my readers!**

 *****I do not personally share nor condone the views, expressions, opinions, thoughts, or actions of Lily. All of these things are strictly intended for the development of the character/story—nothing more.**

 **Cross and Angel Wings**

 **Chapter 5:**

It didn't take long for the two of us to reach the creek. From there, we traveled up the creek until we reached the spot where I had bathed the previous day. I found my bag that contained my gear right where I had left it; thankfully, it hadn't been tampered with. We passed the abandoned house, and promptly began following the trail I had marked.

Within no time, we had reached the roadside. I walked over and began pulling the Harley from the bushes. I gave it a once-over to make sure all of my supplies were still there; they were. "Nice bike," I heard Daryl say behind me. "Thanks," I replied. "It yours," he asked. "Is now," I said, still checking the bike. He snorted.

"It was my dad's," I admitted. "Oh," he answered. "I got ya. I—uh—kept Merle's bike…I just, um, understand…," he trailed off. I shook my head and chuckled, "No, I don't think you do." That seemed to make him angry. He gave me a look, "You sayin' I don't care about my brother or somethin'?"

I threw my hands up defensively, "No." "No—I didn't mean that you don't care about him," I continued. "I just—I just meant…," I broke off. "What," he asked with crossed arms and a raised brow. "I just meant that I don't give two shits about my father," I said finally.

"Oh," he said. He gave me another look, but this one was—different. Whether it was one of understanding or pity, I wasn't sure. I didn't like the sound of either one, though. "Yeah," I replied. He rubbed his neck again. "So—those scars—," he began to ask but broke off as he looked me over. I gave a snort, "Look, I won't ask about your demons, and you don't ask about mine—deal?"

I heard him exhale deeply before saying, "Yeah." There was a long silence; I climbed on the bike. "You comin'," I asked, nodding to the seat behind me. "You serious," he asked. "Looks that way," I said with a smirk. He chuckled and shook his head, "No way. I'll drive." I laughed, "No one rags this piece o' shit but me. My dad loved this bike more than anything—except this jacket I'm wearin. If anybody's gonna make that bastard roll over in his undead grave, it's gonna be me."

He looked surprised for a split second before rubbing his neck again and mumbling under his breath. I shrugged, "It's the little things in life." Daryl chuckled again. Man, I could listen to that sexy chuckle of his nonstop 'till the day I died. "I ain't ridin' bitch," he said. "Oh, come on," I replied. "I'll let you snuggle up to me and everything," I continued with a smirk, giving him a playful wink.

Again, he looked shocked. Seriously?! He acts like he's never been flirted with before! Maybe he hasn't? No, that can't be it—I mean, look at him! The shock vanished and was instantly replaced with a grimace. Finally, he relented and took a step toward the bike. "Saddle up, buttercup," I teased as he reluctantly climbed on behind me. He snorted and I laughed.

"Hold on real tight now," I continued teasing, a smile playing on my lips. I heard him snort again, and my smile broke free. "If you didn't have tits, I'd swear you were Merle," he said. Well, there's something. I turned my head to look at him, then smiled. "Glad you noticed," I said and gave him another wink. I turned around, started the bike, and took off.

There was still a bit of daylight to spare when we returned. I parked my bike alongside what I assumed to be Daryl's bike; I cut the engine, and we both climbed off. I had just opened one of the saddle bags to start unloading a few things, when we heard the shots. I quickly grabbed one of the handguns in the bag and took off toward the source of the noise; Daryl was already halfway there.

I stopped beside an older woman that I would later come to know as Carol; she was standing to the side of the rest of the group gathered at the barn. "What the hell's goin' on here," I asked her. "Walkers," was her only reply, never taking her eyes off of what she was watching. I followed her gaze, and sure enough, walkers were coming out of the barn. We watched in silence as Shane, Andrea, and two guys that I later learned were T-Dog and Glenn shot the walkers; Daryl, upon arriving, began shooting as well.

As I watched the all-too-familiar scene, I decided to break the silence with Carol, "You look—familiar." She momentarily turned to look at me before fixing her eyes back on the shooting, "So do you." I looked her up and down closely before realization hit me. "I do know you. You were at that halfway house in Atlanta the last time I stayed. You had a daughter—right," I asked. "Sophia," she answered, turning to look at me. Sophia—the message.

"You left the message on that car," I asked. "That was Rick and Daryl," she said, looking at the two then back at me. "Daryl's looked so hard for her; he hasn't given up hope, even when I have. He's kept me going," she continued, staring at Daryl with a smile on her face. I looked at Daryl as he shot a walker with his crossbow, then back at Carol. The two obviously had something—judging by Carol's expression, anyway. No wonder he always looked so shocked when I flirted with him. Damnit! All the good ones are always taken. Shit!

I sighed in internal disappointment before saying, "Well, if I saw that message, I'm sure she did too. I'm sure she'll turn up soon." "I hope you're right," she replied. "I'm Lily, by the way," I continued. "Carol," she said as she turned her attention from Daryl to the barn; I followed suit. I watched as Shane shot a female walker; the old doctor Rick called Hershel hit his knees before her and began to cry. I'm no expert, but if I had to guess, that was once his wife. Three girls, who looked to be roughly around my age, copied his gesture—probably his daughters.

If that scene was sad, what came next was downright heart-shattering. A young girl stepped out of the barn—a walker. I always prided myself on being able to handle anything, but no matter how long I lived in this sick, walker-infested world, I would never get used to seeing children like this. When the shooting stopped, even as she came closer and closer, I began to get a bad feeling. It was the scream that came from Carol, though, that confirmed it—Sophia.

I watched in shock and horror as Carol hit her knees and began sobbing uncontrollably. "My baby," she kept muttering repeatedly through her choking sobs. Everybody watched—except Daryl. Like a dirty knight in leather armor, he ran to Carol and held her as she cried; he seemed to be crying too. Hell, I was on the brink of tears, myself. We all just stared, silent and motionless—almost in a daze. By that time, however, Sophia had gotten dangerously close; still, nobody made a move.

When she was almost close enough to touch him, Rick snapped out of it. He pulled out his gun and fired; that shot woke everyone else up, too. I watched as Hershel and his girls cried over their wife and mother, and I watched as Rick held his wife and son—relieved that he still had them. I turned my head to see Carol clinging to Daryl, crying hysterically as she mourned the loss of her sweet, innocent little girl.

As I turned my head back forward, I met Shane's eyes. I saw the smug look he had as he wrapped his arm around Andrea—that's when I knew that he was the one who started this ordeal. The hurt and sadness I felt was instantly replaced with an anger I hadn't felt in a long time. It washed over me, flooding every nerve and fiber I had in my body. The last thing I remembered was lunging for Shane, and then I saw red.

When the red finally faded and my vision returned to normal, I looked down to find Shane bleeding again—his nose, mouth, and even an ear. Someone had pulled me off of him and still held me, though I didn't know who. I looked up to see Rick mouthing something at me, but I couldn't hear him; I looked back down at Shane. After a minute or so, the pounding in my ears died away. "What the hell did you do that for," I finally heard what Rick was saying.

I ignored Rick for the moment and looked down at my hands. My knuckles were throbbing in pain and bloodied by a mixture of both mine and Shane's blood. I was regaining control, but I was still too angry to acknowledge Rick or reason. I jerked myself away from whoever was holding me back. I watched as Rick and Andrea helped Shane to stand.

"Where the hell do you get off doin' this to these people," I spat at Shane. "I—don't know what you're talkin' about," he replied. "The fuck you don't, asshole! I see it in your eyes; you started this," I continued, venom dripping in every word. "They were walkers," he said, blood dripping from his lip. "They were people, first," I exclaimed.

"In case it escaped your attention, that was somebody's wife and mother," I continued, pointing to the body Hershel still wept over. "And that was somebody's baby girl," I practically screamed as I pointed to Sophia's small body. Everybody's eyes were now on Shane and me—except for Daryl and Carol, who were now stepping inside the RV.

"We had to do something! They—they would've gotten out! They would've killed us," Shane argued. "And instead of handling the situation quietly, you decided to make it into some deranged target practice," I retorted. "They needed to practice somehow," he spat smugly. I lunged for him again, "You son-of-a-bitch!" Rick held me back as I struggled to get to Shane.

"I was just thinking of the safety of the group," Shane said. "'Safety of the group' my ass! You just wanted to play hero," I replied. I jerked out of Rick's grip and glared at Shane, "The only way I see to keep this group 'safe' is for somebody to put a bullet in your head! That would keep everybody safe!" Shane, Andrea, and Rick all gave me a look.

I strode up to Shane and looked him square in the eye, "If you ever pull some shit like this in my presence again, the things I'll do to you will make all this look like child's play." The slight widening of his eyes was all the understanding I needed.

I looked around to see that Hershel and the others were leaving the messy scene. There was no one left now but Rick, Shane, Andrea, and me. Shane and Andrea both gave me one last glare before turning and leaving as well. I turned my back on them and walked into the barn. When I walked back out, I had a shovel in hand. "What are you doing," Rick asked. "If I'm goin' to stay, I might as well make myself useful. These bodies need graves," I replied, walking toward the pasture.

Daryl was just stepping outside of the RV as I passed it. "What happened to you," he asked. Apparently, he and Carol had missed the whole thing with Shane. I chuckled and shook my head, "Ask Shane—or Rick, if you want the truth." He snorted. I was about to start walking again, when I remembered the realization I had earlier about him and Carol.

"Listen, I'm sorry about all those things I said earlier," I started. "What things," he asked with a raised brow. "You know—the flirtin' and stuff. I didn't know you were with anybody, or I wouldn't have-," I tried to continue, but he cut me off. "What," he asked, shock written all over his face. Seriously?! He ain't gonna make this easy, is he? "You and Carol," I answered with a raised brow. "Anyway, could you tell her that I'm sorry? I can't even imagine what she's goin' through—losin' her baby like that…," I trailed off. He just stared at me, obviously dumbfounded at something. After a moment or so, I left him so that I could start digging the graves; he was still staring after me with that same look upon his face.


	7. Chapter 6

***A/N*:** **I do not own The Walking Dead, its universe, nor its characters. I only own Lily Cross. This fic does not follow canon. I hope you enjoy, and please, leave a review! It does my heart well to hear from my readers!**

 *****I do not personally share nor condone the views, expressions, opinions, thoughts, or actions of Lily. All of these things are strictly intended for the development of the character/story—nothing more.**

 **Cross and Angel Wings**

 **Chapter 6:**

It took me quite a long time to dig the graves. I decided to dig just three—one for Hershel's wife, his stepson, and one for Sophia; the rest didn't seem to be anyone of any importance to the group. Though it would have been nice to have a little help, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't grateful for the alone time. The truth was, I was still a little angry at the way Shane handled things. To add further turmoil to my emotions, I was still dealing with the shock and utter disappointment of Daryl being a taken man. Daryl—man, he was perfect. Damnit! I sighed audibly. Yeah, it was best that I was alone for the moment.

Dirty, sweaty, and tired, I finally began making my way back to the farmhouse. I was just about there, when I caught a glimpse of Daryl and Rick's wife talking. Curious, I started their way. As I grew closer, I could make out the conversation. "Please, Daryl," Rick's wife said. "I said 'no', Lori," Daryl replied as he turned to walk away, clearly annoyed by whatever it was she was asking him to do.

"How could you be so selfish," Lori spat. I watched him spin back around to face her; I stopped at a safe distance to watch the scene. "I ain't selfish, or have you forgotten everything I went through lookin' for Sophia?! Damnit, that nearly killed me! And what good came of it?! She's dead," he exclaimed furiously. "Please-," Lori began again, but Daryl cut her off. "Forget it," he said, "I'm done lookin' for people."

I watched as the two turned their backs to each other and storm away in different directions—Lori towards a car, and Daryl towards me. He was about to pass me by, but I stopped him. "What the hell was that about," I asked. "She wants me to check on Rick," he replied. "Where is he," I asked with a raised brow. "Him and Glenn went to bring Hershel back," he answered. He was obviously still pissed about the spat with Lori, and I was clearly not helping in cooling his temper.

"Hershel's gone," I asked another question. "Yeah," he snorted. I distantly heard a car engine start behind me, "She's gonna go herself, ain't she?" "Probably," he replied shortly. He started to walk away, but I grabbed his arm, "We can't just let her take off alone." "You can't, maybe, but I sure as hell can," he said angrily. I gave him a look.

He returned my glare, and we stared at one another like that for, what seemed like, a long time. After that long and silent pause, his temper broke loose, "Forget it! Don't you hear good?! I said that I'm done lookin' for people!" He jerked his arm out of my grasp roughly. "Fine," I spat through clenched teeth. "Fine," he spat back in the exact same manner as he turned and strode away. Fine. I took off and ran for the car Lori had started moments before.

She had just put it in gear when I reached the car. Panting, I hurriedly banged on the passenger window. "Don't try and stop me," she started as she rolled down the window. "I'm—not," I said, still out of breath. "Let me in," I continued. She looked at me skeptically. "Oh, come on. You'd have to be stupid to go out there all by yourself," I said, trying to open the door.

"Are you calling me an idiot," she asked with a raised brow. "No—I'm only saying that two idiots are better than one," I answered with a smirk. She eyed me for a moment before breaking into a smile. I opened the door the moment she unlocked it and climbed in. I barely had the door shut when she hit the gas. Well, here we go.

We had reached the end of the long driveway when I broke the silence, "I'm Lily, by the way." "Lori," she responded. "I heard—when you were talking with Daryl," I said. She looked at me briefly, handed me a map, and returned her eyes to the road. "So—where are we headed," I asked, spreading the map on my lap. "Rick and Glenn said they were going into town to look for Hershel," she responded.

"Alright, well according to the map, you should turn right—here," I said, pointing to the upcoming road. She was driving so fast, we almost missed the turn. Lori hit the brakes hard, and we barely made it before she was hitting the gas again. We were going unbelievably fast. It was like she was a madwoman on a serious mission—or with a serious death wish.

"Maybe you should slow down a tad. It's not like this town is goin' to run away or anything," I offered. She looked at me, then back at the road, "I can't. I have to find Rick! I have to tell him…" "Tell him wha-," I began to ask before exclaiming, "Lori! Look out!" There was a walker standing in the middle of the road, and we were going too fast to stop in time. Call it bad instincts or just pure bad luck, but Lori decided to turn the wheel hard to dodge the walker. We did miss it, but she turned too sharp. I remember the car flipping—then everything went black.

I awoke to the sound of Lori calling my name. My head hurt really bad, and I was pretty sure that I was bleeding. She went to call my name again but ended up screaming, instead; there was a walker trying to make its way through the hole in the windshield. "Lori, can you climb to the back," I asked. She nodded. "Good. Go on, then," I said, trying to reach the knife I kept hidden in my boot.

The way I had to position myself to get it hurt like hell, but I pushed through. Lori had successfully climbed into the backseat the same moment that I grasped my knife. I immediately pulled it out and stabbed the walker in the eye; it was dead. Slowly and painfully, I managed to crawl out of the car with my bag in my arm. I stood up, even if it was rather uneasily, and opened the back door so that Lori could get out.

Once she was safely outside of the car, I went through my bag until I felt my flashlight. I'm not sure how long we had been stuck out here, but it was dark now—the only light was coming from the car's headlights. I turned it on and shone it in Lori's direction so that I could check her over. As I did, I saw the walker behind her. "Lori! Duck," I exclaimed. I took out the gun I kept in the back of my waistband and shot just as she ducked.

I exhaled deeply, "Are you alright?" "I—I think so," she answered shakily. I quickly looked her over for injuries. She had a few cuts and bruises, but nothing major. I, however, hurt all over. The pounding in my head had grown worse, and there was a chunk of windshield lodged in the top of my thigh. Great.

I didn't have time to concentrate on that, though. Lori started walking—in the wrong direction; she was still heading towards town, not back to the farmhouse. "Where the hell do you think you're goin'," I called after her. "I've got to find Rick," she answered, still walking. I did my best to hobble after her, but it took a great effort. This is what I get for helping people—perfect.

I gave up on trying to reach her and stopped in the middle of the road, "Would you just wait a damn minute!" She stopped and turned to face me. "Look, it's dark out—we nearly died! We can't be far from the farmhouse—we should go back-," I started, but she cut me short. "But, Rick-," I cut her back off at that. "Rick is probably already back at the farm—with your son—worried sick about you! We should go back," I finished. She ignored me, turned towards town, and started walking again. Shit!

As I've said, God must truly smile on the unfortunate. I had just thrown my hands up in the air and cursed in pain when I saw it—headlights. This could be really good or very bad. Thankfully, it was the former. The car stopped, and to my surprise, Shane and Daryl jumped out. Shane ran to Lori, and Daryl ran to me.

"What the hell happened," Daryl asked as he looked and felt me over for injuries. "It's good to see you, too," I said with a smirk before telling him what had happened, then commencing to curse as he touched cuts, bruises, and no telling what else. Concern etched across his face with each curse or wince I gave. He stopped when he saw the shard sticking out of my thigh. He looked up at me, "That needs to come out." "Leave it—for now," I said. "Besides, I'd hate to spew blood all over that fine outfit of yours," I continued with a grin. He chuckled.

He stood back up and looked at me. I stared back into those gorgeous blue eyes, and I swear, in that moment, I've never in my entire life wanted to kiss someone as much as I did him. It could have been my head spinning, but I could have sworn in that instant, something changed in his eyes. Hell, my head must have been really spinning, because it almost seemed as though he was leaning in—to kiss me? No—that can't be right. He's with Carol! You've just bumped your head harder than you thought! Right. Right?

I was about to give in to my fantasy, though against my better judgement, when I caught a bit of Shane and Lori's conversation. "Think about the baby-," I heard Shane say. The baby? What baby?! "That's none of your concern," Lori spat. "You sure about that," Shane countered. Baby—surely—I mean, surely that doesn't mean—that Lori's—pregnant?!

"What?!" I exclaimed, jerking my head in their direction. They both looked at me. "You mean to tell me, that you drove off out here like some maniac, and you're pregnant," I continued, practically screaming. "I—I," Lori began, clearly shaken. I tried to go up to her but Daryl grabbed me; I struggled. "You what?! Are you crazy, or just plain stupid," I continued ranting, my temper getting the better of me.

Lori began to sob into Shane as he held her, whispering something into her ear. The anger I had at her stupidity still flooded my senses; I jerked out of Daryl's grasp and faced him. "Why didn't you tell me she was pregnant," I said through clenched teeth, giving him a small shove. Pain and shock quickly replaced the anger as he grabbed me, pulled me really close, and whispered into my ear, "I didn't know. Now, calm down, and don't ever do that again."

I'm not sure if it was from shock, pain, or just being so very close to Daryl that did it, but when he released me, my head started spinning in overdrive. I tried to take a step forward. Instantly, I stumbled; Daryl caught me right before I hit the ground. He helped me stand back up, but the pain and the spinning only grew worse. I looked to see Shane and Lori walking to the car. I took a step to follow them, only to fall into Daryl, and then, everything went black again.

I once again woke to someone's voice calling my name—Daryl's voice. "Hmmm," I answered, struggling to open my eyes. "Come on, wake up," he said. With great effort, I managed to open my eyes; they were so heavy. "Stay with me," I heard him say as my eyes started to close again; I kept them open at his words. I groggily realized that my head must be in his lap. I looked into his eyes. "That's my girl," I heard him say. I wish. Oh, how I wish. "Mmhmm," I replied, a smile forming on my face.

My eyes began to close again. "Just stay with me, we're almost there," he said, urging my eyes to stay open. It was like an out of body experience. All I could do was watch my movements and listen to my words, still too out of it to control any of it. "I—wanted to—I want to—kiss you," I heard myself whisper as my hand somehow managed to touch his face. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. Lily, what are you doing?! I hazily watched shock flash across his face, followed by—something else. What that something else was, I wasn't entirely sure. I heard him snort, then chuckle.

"But—you're—with—," I heard myself continue sleepily, my hand still placed along his cheek. I saw that confusing look upon his face once more as my eyes closed again, and I felt my hand fall from his face. I tried to reopen them, but I was just so sleepy, and they were so heavy. I was still barely conscious as I felt Daryl slide out from under my head and shut the door. A split second later, I heard the one at my feet open. I felt someone lift me up. That very instant, I caught a whiff of the all-too-familiar scent I was beginning to fall in love with: a mixture of sweat, leather, and dirt. Daryl's scent. I breathed him in deeply, and then I let the blackness take me once more.


	8. Chapter 7

***A/N*:** **I do not own The Walking Dead, its universe, nor its characters. I only own Lily Cross. This fic does not follow canon. I hope you enjoy, and please, leave a review! It does my heart well to hear from my readers!**

 *****I do not personally share nor condone the views, expressions, opinions, thoughts, or actions of Lily. All of these things are strictly intended for the development of the character/story—nothing more.**

 ****SPECIAL A/N**: I apologize for not posting this chapter sooner. After the holidays, a very close and dear family member passed away. I am still not over this loss, but life and this story must go on. This chapter is dedicated to** **Captain Canary3. Thanks for your encouraging review, and I hope that you enjoy!**

 **Cross and Angel Wings**

 **Chapter 7:**

A sudden chill woke me up. My eyes flicked open with annoying reluctance. It was daylight, I realized, as the familiar room filled my vision. Though I didn't have the slightest clue how, I had made it back to the farmhouse—and someone was touching me. Reflexively, I jolted upright, jerking my legs back as I did. I was already getting ready to swing on the asshole messing with me, when I realized who it was—Hershel.

My balled fist loosened immediately, and I sighed deeply. However, it was shortly replaced by wincing as the old man began recleaning the wound on my leg. The jolt of pain brought with it the memories of the night before—Lori, the accident, the walkers, Daryl, all of it. "Damnit—you scared the—shit out of me," I said to Hershel through winces and groans.

Honestly, I felt a bit embarrassed that such an injury would cause me to act like such a baby. I mean, I had definitely had worse, but still—it hurt like a bitch. I just hoped nobody besides the 'doc' could hear me. That would really be embarrassing. The snort Hershel gave in response brought me from my thoughts. "Glad to see you're awake," he said with a small smile, never looking up from tending my leg.

Despite the pain, I found myself giving him an uneasy laugh. "Yeah. It's gonna take a hell of lot more than a wreck to keep me down," I said, still chuckling. "Glad to see you're still with us," I continued as he began bandaging the wound. This time, he looked up at me for a brief moment. Then, he snorted again and kept on wrapping.

After Hershel had finished, he looked back up at me and began inspecting the bumps on my head, "Now, do you have any trouble remembering what happened yesterday?" He asked in a routine-like fashion. "Well—it's kind of fuzzy, but—I think so. I remember you running off and Rick and Glenn going off to bring you back. And—I remember going with Lori to find Rick—the accident—and Daryl," I answered. Daryl. I inadvertently looked around the room, "Where is Daryl?"

Hershel gave a small chuckle and opened his mouth to answer my question; however, the old man was interrupted by a light knock on the door. "Oh, right. I had almost forgot. Rick wanted to speak with you as soon as you were awake. Come in," Hershel said. I inwardly rolled my eyes. This sheriff had already caused enough trouble in my life—and I hadn't even known this group a full week. I would have been a hell of lot happier if it was Daryl coming through that door.

Nope. In stepped Rick. I watched the sheriff walk over to my bedside. He cleared his throat like he had a frog in it or something, but he made no intention of speaking—neither did I. An awkward silence later, the old man stood and cleared his throat, "Right. Well, it looks like you'll be fine, Ms. Cross—just sore for the next few days. But—you did loose quite a bit of blood after we pulled that shard out of your leg, so try to take it easy." With that, Hershel gave Rick a look that I would assume meant 'try not to rile her up' and left the room.

The sheriff cleared his throat—again—but otherwise stayed silent. Frankly, it was getting on my nerves. I gave a very audible, annoyed sigh, turned my head, and looked out of the room's window. If this asshole thinks that I'm starting this conversation, he's got another thing comin', I thought with a smirk. I watched as Hershel's daughters and Lori hung a load of laundry up to dry with feigned interest. Anything was better than looking at Rick, and I wanted him to know it.

Once the women had finished their chore and the sheriff still hadn't said anything, I had had enough. "Say something or get out, Sheriff. I'm tired of pretending that you're not here," I said bluntly. Nothing. Damnit! Reluctantly, I cut my eyes over to him. There he was, standing in the same exact spot rubbing the back of his neck.

Then, it hit me. Whatever he came here to say, it was now obvious that it was going to be hard for him. Hell, he probably didn't want to say it, either. I smiled. This was going to be good. Now, I just had to know. I looked at him full-on now, with crossed arms, still smiling. Rick looked at me with a raised brow, "What're you smiling for?" He was clearly confused—even better.

My smile broadened, "Oh, nothing. Just waiting to hear whatever it is that's got the blabbering sheriff tongue-tied. If you'd ever spit it out, that is." I gave him a look and waited. Rick huffed, then motioned to the bed, "May I sit?" With a raised brow, I nodded. "Look, Lori told me what you did," he began once he was seated on the edge of my bed. I stayed silent, and he exhaled deeply.

"C—can I ask why? I mean—," Rick started, but I cut him off. "The woman's obviously got a few screws loose—but I couldn't in good conscience let her go out there by herself. And, I damn sure wasn't gonna let her get herself killed. Does that answer your question," I retorted? The sheriff looked at me a moment before speaking again, "I—I just wanted to come up here and tell you thank you, and—I'm sorry." He hung his head slightly, and I chuckled, "I'll be damned. That really was hard for you, wasn't it?"

Rick looked back at me with a bit of shock in his eyes before eventually shaking his head and laughing along with me. "Yeah. It's not easy—and, if I'm being honest, you're the last person I ever thought I'd be saying it to," he replied. With that, I stopped, "What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Alarm etched his face as he began to uneasily attempt to back-peddle his way out of what he had just said, causing me to laugh once again.

"Damn, you really are wound tight," I said between chuckles. "But, you're welcome—for helping your wife. Though, I didn't really help her with you in mind or nothin'. As for the 'I'm sorry' part, well, you're gonna have to elaborate on that one. What exactly are you sorry for, Sheriff?" I continued once the laughter had died away. Rick sighed again, "Well, I might have been wrong about you." I smirked, "Damn right you were. But, it's okay, I guess. Maybe one day I'll be able to say the same to you, though I doubt it."

He shook his head with a smile, "You really don't like me, do you?" I snorted, "I don't like cops." Rick gave me another look, "Well, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly a 'cop' anymore. That world's gone." I gave a mock laugh, "Oh, I've noticed, Sheriff. Just like I've noticed that fuckin' badge you're still wearing. The world's changed, but your mindset hasn't—not where it needs to, anyway. And, 'til it does, neither will my opinion."

There was that 'shocked' look in his eye again. It was like the thought had never even crossed his mind. Hell, maybe it hadn't. Still, it was enough to make me feel a tad guilty. After all, Daryl seemed to trust the sheriff. That had to count for something. Plus, Rick did come all the way up here to thank me—and apologize. Shit, I wouldn't even be able to do that. Perhaps Rick Grimes wasn't such a bad guy. On and on I thought to myself as Rick looked to be having his own mental struggle.

I was about to let my guilt overtake me and apologize to him, when Daryl crossed my mind once again. "Do you know where Daryl is?" I asked Rick before I could catch myself. The sheriff stood, shook his head, and chuckled, "Daryl's seriously done a number on you, hasn't he?" I couldn't stop the heat from rising to my cheeks. I huffed, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about." I crossed my arms and looked away, half-hoping that Rick would miss the blushing.

"Neither does he," I barely caught Rick murmuring. I jerked my head to look at him, causing him to laugh again. Once Rick had managed to calm himself, he said, "Yeah, I know where he is. He's interrogating a guy we got last night. Get dressed, and I'll take you to him." The sheriff walked out of the door and gently closed it behind him without another word. Interrogating?! What the hell did I miss?!


	9. Chapter 8

***A/N*:** **I do not own The Walking Dead, its universe, nor its characters. I only own Lily Cross. This fic does not follow canon. I hope you enjoy, and please, leave a review! It does my heart well to hear from my readers!**

 *****I do not personally share nor condone the views, expressions, opinions, thoughts, or actions of Lily. All of these things are strictly intended for the development of the character/story—nothing more.**

 ****SPECIAL A/N**: This chapter is dedicated to lalilou10. Thanks for your encouraging reviews, and I hope that you enjoy!**

 **Cross and Angel Wings**

 **Chapter 8:**

"Shit," I muttered as Rick continued filling me in on everything that had happened while I was out of it. We continued walking in silence for a moment before he spoke again, "Yeah. Anyway, we tried blind-folding him and hauling him a few miles away, but—seems he knows where this place is regardless. We can't just let him go now…" Rick trailed off as we approached the barn. I looked it over, briefly recalling the scene that occurred here the day before, and raised a brow. Well, this definitely would fit the description of a 'backwoods interrogation room', I thought to myself as Rick banged on the door.

"But, we're having a meeting at sunset—to discuss what to do with him. I—I'd like for you to be there," Rick said while we waited. I gave a curt snort and looked at him, "Why's that?" "Well, if you didn't consider yourself a part of the group before—you've definitely earned your place now—and, for what it's worth, my respect. I'd like to hear whatever it is you have to say on it, and I think the others should hear it, too," he replied.

I smirked. It seemed that in spite of what he was, the sheriff was starting to grow on me. I'd never admit it, though—at least not to him. I'd be lying if I said it didn't annoy the shit out of me, but—it is what it is. Damnit. I had just opened my mouth to voice some snarky retort when the door opened. All other thoughts vanished as Daryl stepped out, closing the door behind him.

I watched as he walked over to Rick. If Daryl was aware of my presence, he gave no sign of it. Though that sort of hit me where it hurt, I supposed it didn't matter. It wasn't as if we were together or anything, even if I longed for the contrary. "Yeah," I heard him ask Rick. "Well—how's it goin'?" the sheriff answered Daryl with a question. Knowing that I had been forgotten for the moment, I listened in silence. This 'prisoner' business was beginning to get interesting, and I had become far too curious to interrupt.

"He won't talk," Daryl replied, clearly annoyed. Rick exhaled deeply and ran his fingers through his hair roughly, "Make him." "It ain't workin'," Daryl replied. The sheriff sighed in exasperation, "Then we don't have a choice. We can't let him go. If there's even a chance—that group of his—We don't even know what we're dealing with."

"I could take a crack at him," I decided to speak up. Daryl's head immediately jerked in my direction, eyes wide. So, he really didn't see me. I wasn't sure if that was actually something to take comfort in, but I clung to it, anyway. In less than a blink, he was hugging me. To my great annoyance, I stood there frozen-stiff from the shock of it. Fortunately, his intoxicating scent filled my senses, and I relaxed into him. However, also to my great annoyance, Daryl abruptly pulled away.

It was as if he had just realized what he had done, or maybe it was something else. Either way, it was clear by the look in his eye that he was just as surprised as I was. The world around us seemed to melt away as I held his gaze. Hell, I swear I had completely lost myself in his eyes; however, the instant Rick cleared his throat, the moment was gone. Daryl's eyes darted to the ground, and mine went directly to Rick.

I silently prayed that the look I gave the sheriff didn't convey my overwhelming urge to strangle him right where he stood. Judging by the shit-eating grin that was plastered on his face, though, I had a sinking feeling that it did. Shit. However, as I returned my attention to Daryl, I realized that his cheeks were red. In the same instant, I felt the heat rise to my own cheeks. It was my eyes that darted to the ground this time. Damnit! Pull yourself together, Lily! I internally scolded myself.

When I mustered the courage to look back up, I noticed that both of them were staring at me—Rick with that same grin upon his face and Daryl sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. Great. I raised a brow and waited. Eventually, Daryl managed to say, "I—uh—I'm glad you're okay, Lily." He didn't look at me as he said it, but once he had finished, he cut his eyes over to me and gave a small smile. I honestly didn't think my heart could melt like that—for anyone—ever. But, here I was; I was putty in this guy's hands, and he didn't even know it. Just my luck, I thought to myself with an inward snort.

"Thanks," I said in an equally sheepish tone. I didn't even attempt to mask my emotions as I looked up at him and returned his smile. Whether Daryl caught it or not, though, I couldn't tell. Another awkward silence fell between the two of us. It wasn't until I noticed Rick shaking his head and smirking that I decided to break it once more. "So, do I get a go at this 'prisoner' guy or not," I asked, looking between the two men.

They answered at the same time. Rick said 'yes', and Daryl said 'no'. The two looked at each other awkwardly before looking back at me. "Really," I crossed my arms and huffed. Daryl turned his back to me for a split second to face Rick. I couldn't see what he was doing, but I had a feeling that it wasn't in my favor. My suspicions were confirmed when Daryl faced me again and Rick began to speak, "I—uh…Well, I—don't think it's such a good idea…" He trailed off, refusing to make eye contact. Seriously?!

I gave them each a look, but I doubt that they noticed. Both of the men had their eyes focused on their feet. "And why the hell not," I asked, my temper beginning to flare. The sheriff shot Daryl a look before clearing his throat and continuing, "Well—see, the prisoner—Randall's his name—well, we're trying to let him see as few of us as possible. You know, in case we decide to let him go—or if he somehow escapes."

Damnit. Rick had a point, and I knew it. He was also full of shit. I'm not sure why Daryl Dixon didn't want me in there, but in that exact moment, I didn't care. I opened my mouth to let them have it, but no words would come. I wasn't quite sure if it was because Rick really did have a point or because I secretly hoped that Daryl just wanted to protect me, but I suddenly lost the will to fight over it. It wasn't like I actually cared about Randall or what information he had to give, anyway. If Daryl wanted to have his 'macho' moment, I decided to let him.

So, I exhaled deeply instead, "Fine." Their eyes darted to meet mine, clearly surprised by my reaction. I found it amusing that I had caught them off guard; however, I was definitely still angry, and they knew it. Tension hovered in the air as a brief silence ensued. Finally, I uncrossed my arms and shrugged, "I was just trying to help." With that, I gave them one last look and walked away.

I was halfway back to the house when I felt someone grab my arm, stopping me in my tracks. I didn't have to turn around to know who it was. Rick now knew better than to even attempt it, and no one else cared to talk to me. It had to be Daryl. The electricity that surged through me upon contact only further proved it. I sighed, but otherwise remained silent and motionless.

"Lily-," he began in a low and surprisingly soft tone. My heart skipped a beat when he said my name, and I swear my knees went weak. Damn this man and what he does to me, I thought to myself, though I knew that I wouldn't trade it for anything. I stayed silent a few moments longer in an attempt to hide my emotions. "What," I asked eventually, refusing to face him.

Nothing. If he didn't still have a grip on my arm, I would've assumed that he had left. I fought the growing urge to turn to him, but I knew I wouldn't be able to fight it for long. Luckily a few moments later, Daryl walked around to stand in front of me. Deep down, I hated how childish I was acting—just not enough to stop myself. The instant that I saw him, my eyes went directly to the dirt. Like I said, childish. But, I knew what I was doing. I knew damn well that if I looked into those gorgeous, blue eyes of Daryl Dixon's that all of my anger and frustration would be replaced by another slew of emotions; I wasn't ready for that yet. No, I was determined that this time, I was going to make him work for it.

"I—uh, just wanted to say-," Daryl began but broke off. Again, I had to fight my urges to look at him. Don't do it, Cross! I warned myself. I knew what his silence meant—he was waiting, and if I could help it, he would keep waiting. After a moment, he snorted. Nope, I'm still not gonna do it, I replied internally. I heard him exhale deeply before letting his own frustration out, "Damnit, Cross! Will you at least look at me?!" That was all it took to know that I had won—at least in my own way.

Still, I wanted to see how far that I could get with it. It was wrong, I knew, but I also knew that if he was with Carol, this was the most affection I would ever get from the man of my dreams. So, I made myself hold out a little longer. But, even I wasn't expecting what happened next.

His grip on my arm loosened, and in that split-second I managed to mentally kick my own ass. It appeared that my plan was backfiring, as usual. To my great relief—and immense surprise—, however, Daryl didn't let go. Instead, he slid his hand down my arm and gently grasped my hand. Damnit. The chills that the simple gesture sent through me told me that it was all over from here. Daryl had won.

Slowly, my eyes found their way to his. The small smile that he gave in response was all the reward that I needed, but it didn't stop there. He gave a short sigh before continuing in a rushed manner, "I'm—I'm sorry. It's just—I just wanted—I'm just trying…" I raised a brow; it was clear that Daryl was struggling with whatever he was trying to say. Since I had known him, he hadn't been a man of very many words—unless he was pissed, anyway—but I had never seen him like this. Whatever it was, it was big.

My hopes immediately began to soar in spite of myself. Maybe he really did want to protect me! Maybe he really does care! I couldn't help but think, though I knew that this was probably not the case. I mean, I wasn't exactly the type that needed protecting—everybody knew that. Hell, I wasn't even the type that wanted protecting. If it was anybody else—I stopped myself. After all, this wasn't just 'anybody'—this was Daryl. If this was his way of showing that he cared, I'd take it gladly. Better than nothing, I thought.

As these thoughts continued to consume my mind, I inadvertently smiled. "Damnit!" Daryl exclaimed in another burst of frustration, this time at himself. My smile faded. He looked away, and I immediately felt torn. On one hand, I wanted nothing more than to hear what Daryl had to say—no matter how long it took. On the other hand, however, I couldn't stand to see him struggle so. I've never been a patient person—ever—, but I decided two things in that moment: I would wait for Daryl no matter long it took, and I would do absolutely anything to make him feel better.

So, I swallowed all of my hopes and sighed heavily. I returned the grasp that he had on my hand and rubbed my thumb back-and-forth along the top of his hand. Daryl looked back at me with a mixture of surprise and confusion, causing me to smile. "It's okay, Daryl," I began, still rubbing his hand and smiling. He raised a brow, "Really? Just like that?" His disbelief made me laugh. Damn, he already knows me too well. "Just like that," I replied, still chuckling.

Though he was silent, the fact that he still had his brow raised told me that he was still unsure, so I decided to explain. I shrugged, "Rick was right, anyway. The less this Randall-guy sees, the better. Besides, I didn't really give two shits, anyway. I was just wanting you to know that I'm here. If you need help—or anything—I'm here." My smile faltered for a split-second as I tried to decipher if he had caught the meaning behind the words. I couldn't. Shit!

We looked at each other for a while, both silent. Frankly, I was just enjoying spending time with him—alone. It was amazing, and the fact that we were still holding hands only made it better. Unfortunately, he eventually pulled his hand away and scratched his head, "Oh—yeah…Okay." My arm fell to my side as Daryl took a step back and I tried to push down the overwhelming disappointment that I felt.

The silence that followed this time was awkward at its finest. I found myself sighing again before eventually saying, "Yeah. Anyway, I guess I better go." Daryl nodded his head, and I started walking again. I had made another few steps when I heard him call behind me, "Hey, Lily!" "Yeah," I stopped and half-turned to him.

"Uh—last night…You kept goin' on about me being with somebody…," Daryl started, only to trail off. Damnit, Lily, what the hell did you say?! I kept thinking, trying to recall saying anything of the sort. When I couldn't, my stomach immediately knotted. Oh, no.

The way that he said it, I wasn't sure if it was a statement or a question, but it was damn sure enough to get my attention. I completely turned to face him; "Yeah," I replied with a raised brow. "Well, um, I just wanted 'ya to know that, uh," he said, closing the distance between us. What the hell?! I couldn't help but think in complete confusion. Why would Daryl make it a point to tell me of him and Carol—especially if I've apparently made it known that I know? Unless—he isn't with Carol! My hopes began to soar once again.

"Wanted me to know what," I asked, fighting back the grin that was dying to break out. Just stay calm, I told myself. There's no need to make an ass out of yourself, I continued as Daryl opened his mouth to speak. Unfortunately, he shut it just as quickly. Damnit! Just spit it out, man! My stomach did back-flips, my heart was skipping beats. Still, Daryl's mouth remained closed. I had been through a lot of shit in my life, but this was by far the cruelest torture that I had ever faced.

Please, for the love of God—I began to beg internally. Then, I heard it—someone was coming up behind me. Shit, shit, shit! "Hey, Daryl," I heard an unfamiliar, male voice call. Whoever it was, he was getting close. Are you fucking kidding me?! Pissed was not even the word to describe what I was feeling.

I began to see red, and both of my fists balled tightly. Honestly, I was surprised that the entirety of the farm couldn't see the steam coming from my ears. I felt like I would explode. I gritted my teeth in a poor attempt to release some of the anger. I didn't know who the hell this guy was, but I had the right mind to knock the ever-living shit out of him. Daryl cut his eyes to me briefly, before turning to face the approaching man, "Yeah, what is it, Dale?"


End file.
